Saturday noon . . .

It's Saturday noon at the Brooklyn Deli, downtown Spokane, a cool 78 degrees, sunny, with Bob Dylan's raspy voice singing, "I'm walking down the highway, my suitcase in my hand." I could be in Brooklyn. I'm looking up at an elevated train splashed with graffiti, rolling by as fast as the traffic, cars and a bright yellow van. City traffic outside. I'm eating Thai chicken soup hot enough to compensate for those leaves turning red and brown just outside the door.

I'm thinking about my writing (always) and today's headlines here in Spokane. Another police shooting, the third in four weeks. This time a woman tried to cut out the back window just as the police broke in on a drug raid. She got shot in the arm. She's pregnant.

On my way here, I saw a police car parked by the local synagogue, a visible officer standing guard. I don't think that happens in Brooklyn.

They reappeared this morning. Two does grazing in the field, just along the pines. Their long necks stretched out in the high grasses, their shaggy red flanks predicting winter. I hadn't spotted them all summer and wondered where the fawns of early spring had gone. But they came back to this copse of pines next to our apartment building, maybe remembering home.

I ran for the camera and when I returned, only one deer remained, leisurely grazing and then moving back under the pine trees, her long white tail flicking and then hidden from view. How I fill my days with structure, deadlines, commitments. My writing continues. The seasons turn. Winter comes. And in the spring, just maybe, new life.

And in Seattle . . .

Our three-day trip to Seattle led us to a Mariners/Red Sox game (a friend came by free tickets and gave them to us), the awards dinner at the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, and a visit to the Seattle Art Museum. The sun shone, the sky was impossibly blue, and like any rare Pacific Northwest summer day, no humidity and no rain.

The Mariners game introduced me to the beloved Ichiro, the incomparable Japanese player, who approaches home plate with an unusual stance, knees locked together, feet widespread. When he hits the ball, his entire body springs forward, as if to release all his energy into that connection with the baseball and the run to first base. I am not a sports fan (except for being somewhat crazy about soccer), but Ichiro could make me fall in love with baseball. His every move breathes grace and intention. Though the Mariners lost, the game itself was a cliff-hanger, with loaded bases and splintered bats.

The Seattle Art Museum still dazzles with its permanent collection. An exhibit of Australian aboriginal art is planned for fall 2011, and we discovered the work of Lin Onus, whose mother was a Scot and whose father was aboriginal. His painting, "Gathering Storm" (1993) is mesmerizing. You look into a waterscape, eucalytus trees shadow the dark blue water and fantastic goldfish shimmer in the depths, painted with markings much like spirit markings. I didn't have my camera, but I will remember this painting. Allen says since the Museum offers this print through its shop, maybe that will be my anniversary present. Onus painted with a sense of the beauty of the environment and the essence of Australia. Unforgettable and he died far too young.

The reason for our trip to Seattle was to attend the Pacific Northwest Writers Association awards dinner as I was a finalist in the historical fiction category. As the names of the "winners" were called Saturday night, we held our breath. I came in second, earning my first check ever for creative writing, and so I remain humbled and grateful for this affirmation. Now, surrounded by books and online resources, I continue research for the next book in the series -- perhaps set in Hawaii, Tasmania, and the Pacific Northwest, all 19th Century. As Rick Bylina says, "Writers write!"

Last weekend we trekked south to Redmond, Oregon, to visit Jamie and Henry. What a visit! We rode a summer ski lift (with legs dangling over the side), up to nearly the top of Mt. Batchelor (some 8,000 feet high) with amazing views of snow-covered mountains.

A thunderstorm chased us down, and then Henry drove us on a loop route around part of the Cascade Lakes Recreation Area for different views of the mountains -- the Three Sisters, Broken Top, and Mt. Washington in the distance. We stopped for lunch in a funky lakeside cafe at Todd Lake, smelled the sweet smell of flowering manzanita along the way, and came home to a fish fry, fresh caught trout (what Henry calls fish bait). And that was Day One.

Saturday began at Sisters, at the 35th Annual Sisters Outdoor Quilt Show, featuring this year the works of Jean Wells Keenan, who began it all at her quilt shop, The Stitchin' Post. Now at the High Desert Gallery, her mantra still rings: "Nature always wears the colors of the spirit." Her artistry is inspirational as seen here in her quilt, "Inspired Journey".


Along with 20,000 other avid lovers of quilts, we viewed not nearly all of 1,300 quilts.


For more pictures, go to my Webshot photos for the Sisters Quilt Show or here to see the Sisters Raffle Quilt ("Timeless" designed by June Jaeger). The next five quilts I hope to make are waiting.

This morning I woke up thinking of round river rocks. Spring is beginning to soften to summer, time to hike again. Here is eastern Washington, the sky is so different, clouds move quickly, changing colors, shifting shapes, then the unadorned sky remains, that unforgettable sky blue, the color of the gods, protection. I never see a turquoise without feeling warmed by these stones.

Round river rocks remind me of how I tried to learn how to skip rocks, that magical skipping when you throw a rock and it makes these hops before sinking down, its own waves. Allen was there. He taught me to hold the rock just so, slant my wrist, and then throw with force. I only tried once, for my rock slammed into some little kid's stomach.

Tomorrow we go back on the road, south to Oregon, and we're both ready to see again the Willamette Valley, our friends, and those places along the river we used to walk. I think we've been in Spokane long enough to call it home. It feels good to sink into the geography of a place, to come to know the stones, the waterfalls, so full now with melting snow and rain, and family here, close to my heart.

Yesterday we hiked through the Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge with members of the Spokane Audubon Association, who were more than generous with their spotting scopes. We saw the elusive and rare Trumpeter swans in flight; our favorites, Yellow-headed Blackbirds perched on cattails, Ruddy Ducks with brilliant blue beaks, and a Great Horned Owl with two little owlets.

Best of all, we hiked through these wetlands and Ponderosa Pine forests, surrounded by just-blooming Camas and lots of bird song. We surprised a Western Bluebird (male) popping into a nest and spotted a very fat coyote on a faraway field. Apparently winter was mild here, and hunting was good. Still, a few minutes later, that coyote circled around and scouted our group, close enough to make us a little nervous. It was fatter than any coyote I've ever seen, fat enough to be taken for a wolf. Don't mess with mother nature.

Five hours of walking and sighting maybe 30 new birds brought us home with sore feet and a renewed appreciation for wetlands. Enjoy the pictures!



Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge

Spring has sprung here in Spokane. The air is filled with the sharp sweet smell of cherry blossoms. Sparrows, crows, robins, chickadees, and sneaker hummingbirds all chirp almost hysterically. Some 75 degrees today. Time to pack away those sweaters, though Rachel tells me it once snowed here in June.

The Dirty Dozen Band, featured on NPR, had a special song for Allen as his plantar fasciatis has reactivated. Check out their rousing rendition of "My Feet Can't Fail Me Now!" Good news, better sensation in that left foot. Bad news, too much walking brought that fasciatis back! Now he has the "boot" (foot splint) to wear every night. But he progresses steadily and is beginning to talk about possible trips. What siren song calls us to travel to Ireland for two weeks in the fall? Maybe? All depends on the neurologist if Allen can fly by then.

Meanwhile, we're going vegan, following dear Uncle Gerry's gift of Dr. Barnard's book, Breaking the Food Seduction. We're on Day 4, and I can report that tofu is fine, nutritional yeast also works well, but soy yogurt may be a taste too far.